


Understand Somehow

by Crowgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M, Mutual Reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel looks up and something about the set of his mouth and the shine in his eyes leads Dean to remember exactly how sensitive the area the angel is currently kneeling over is and decide that maybe shutting up is his best course right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Understand Somehow

‘If I _ever_ catch you doing that again, I swear I will tie you up like this and leave you.’

‘Y’know, when I said you should keep the scarves, this wasn’t what I had in mind.’

Castiel looks up and something about the set of his mouth and the shine in his eyes leads Dean to remember exactly how sensitive the area the angel is currently kneeling over is and decide that maybe shutting up is his best course right now.

‘Do you remember me saying _Do not open that door, Dean?’_

‘Yes, I--’

‘Do you remember me saying _Wait for Sam?’_

 _‘Yes_ , but--’

‘Do you remember me saying--’

‘Fuck, Cas, _yes--’_ Dean jerks against the silk strips that seemed so fragile when Cas bound his wrists. He yanks himself up as far as he can, seeing Castiel’s eyes flicker briefly down over his body. _‘Yes,_ I heard you, okay? But you were also locked in a fucking cellar with a fucking nutbag witch trying to fucking _bleed_ you to death! Did you seriously think I was going to _listen_ to you!’

‘There was nothing she could do to me--’

‘And what was she gonna do to me?’ Dean flexes his arms, pulling against the silk. ‘Whip me to death with these?’ He can feel the stretch in the fabric -- even if he couldn’t simply rip free of them -- which he’s pretty sure he could -- he should be able to slide his hands free without too much trouble.

Castiel’s eyes narrow and he sits back on his heels, flattening his hands on his thighs. His fingertips just brush Dean’s naked belly and, while Dean’s all in favor of Cas sitting back and letting Dean look at him naked, he’s less than delighted by the glare he’s getting.

‘Here is something she could have done--’ Castiel keeps his eyes fixed on Dean’s face and makes a slight gesture with one hand.

‘Ow! Hey!’ Dean cranes his head back as something bites into his left wrist just below the thumb. 

The dark crimson silk strip is laced around his wrist, between his thumb and forefinger, and then wrapped around the side of the bedframe for lack of a post. A few minutes ago, when Castiel had finished making the final knot around the frame, the silk had a few inches of play, enough to let Dean sit almost all the way up. Now it seems to have shortened. He can feel it cutting into his wrist and he could barely feel it at all before. ‘Cas--’

‘Or perhaps this?’ 

Dean can see something moving out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head just in time to see the long end of the tie on his other hand snake up over the edge of the bed. ‘Uh... Cas, what--’

‘Maybe this? She was a creative young woman.’ Castiel’s voice is quite mild, explanatory rather than openly angry. If it weren’t for the gleam in Cas’ eyes and the fury underlying the explanation, Dean could think he was just having the latest evil gizmo explained to him. 

While he lies naked in bed. 

With both wrists wrapped in red silk.

And Cas sitting on his hips. 

Well, okay, so maybe _not_ but--

The end of the silk strip trails over his throat and Dean swallows reflexively. ‘Okay, Cas, I--’ The silk slips forward and up, cutting off the rest of his protest and forming one of the most effective gags he’s ever met. He can breathe through it just fine, but he can’t say a damned thing. _Goddamn it, Cas, when I get out of this--_

The angel leans forward, shifting position so carefully that he doesn’t even come _close_ to touching Dean’s cock which seems manifestly unfair to Dean. ‘And remember, I would have been unable to help you.’

Dean tries to get _some_ sound past the gag -- knowing how good Cas is at getting _fuck you, angel_ out of a number of non-verbal cues -- but there’s nothing. He’s _sure_ he’s making a noise, but nothing’s coming out.

And, so far, it honestly doesn’t seem that bad. Yeah, sure, the gag isn’t exactly what he signed on for but, hey, if it’s gonna work for Cas, he’ll go with it. He cranes his neck a little, trying to see down Cas’ body, see if it _is_ working, but the angel shifts just far back enough and raises one knee slightly so that he _can’t_ see. _Oh, fuck you, Cas. What the hell._

Castiel raises his eyebrows as if he can hear what Dean's thinking but says nothing. And he isn’t _doing_ anything either: just sitting on Dean’s thighs like Dean’s supposed to do it all himself. Not that he wouldn’t be happy to give Cas a show under normal circumstances but the silk makes that completely fucking impossible.

 _Goddamn it..._ Dean takes a deep breath and pulls against the silk binding his wrists. 

Nothing happens.

 _Oh, come on..._ Only a few minutes ago he had been able to raise himself almost to sitting -- and now he can’t even sit up an inch. He can feel something tickling across his chest, though, and he glares up at Castiel.

The angel gives him a look of theatrical innocence and lifts both hands, placing them carefully on his own knees. 

Dean pushes his chin down until it’s practically touching his collarbone and he can see another trailer of silk -- where the hell did that come from? -- snaking across his abdomen, just above his hips. 

He can’t hold himself up against the painful tightness around his wrists and has to let himself fall back against the pillows. The strips around his wrists haven’t gotten any tighter -- but they’re not any looser, either. If he tries to make a fist and pull against the fabric, it just pulls tighter and hurts more. 

_Whoa!_ He jerks upright again, ignoring the pain in his hands, in time to see another trailer of silk loop itself across his chest, yanking him tight to the bed, as the previous length stretches itself further and disappears over his left hip and-- _Cas! C’mon!_

The angel tilts his head, clearly waiting for something, and Dean can _feel_ that damned slippery piece of cloth sliding up behind his balls and looping around the base of his cock and _fuck_ if it isn’t almost enough to get him hard without Cas even _doing_ anything more than watch him.

Castiel is still just watching him, expression blank. If it weren’t for the fact that Dean can feel the angel’s weight on his legs, he’d think this was some elaborate dream coming from a hyperactive imagination and not enough sleep.

But the slick tightness around his cock is real enough and the silk feels _warm_ now which is a little freaky -- but not enough to stop him enjoying it. Cas wouldn’t’ve set up anything that would really hurt him anyway.

The silk feels like it’s moving, too, tightening and releasing a little as it slides up and down and -- wow, that would feel really fucking _awesome_ if Cas wasn’t glaring at him. Dean’s eyes flutter shut and he gasps -- or tries to -- as Castiel’s hand clasps over the silk, adding _real_ heat and _real_ pressure. 

Castiel leans forward and the pressure around Dean’s wrists releases, the gag slides back over his chin, and the tight band over his chest releases. The length around his dick gives one last squeeze then vanishes from under Cas’ fingers and he can feel it slip away over the edge of the bed.

‘Cas--’ Dean gasps again, losing track of what he’d been about to say as Castiel gives his cock a last stroke and then takes his hand away.

‘I do not know all the commands she had for these... _things.’_ Castiel’s voice could practically etch steel and he flicks at the cloth around Dean’s wrist. 

Dean licks his lips and rubs his mouth with the back of one arm, the silk strip now long and flexible, trying to get the taste of red dye out of his mouth.

‘I would not have been able to help you, Dean.’ Castiel’s hand is cupping his cheek and this is one of those moments Dean normally likes to be able to look away from but he can’t. Not this time. Not now. Not with Cas six inches from his face. Not with warm, bare skin pressed against him from knee to ribs. Not with an erection to rival his own pressing into his thigh. 

Not with Cas looking at him like this: like Dean is _worth_ this kind of effort. 

‘So I was supposed to leave you down there? Tied up? Bleeding? For some little Sabrina to play with?’ Dean shakes one wrist free of the red silk and slides his fingers between Castiel’s, giving the angel's hand a quick squeeze. ‘Fuck that.’

‘You were _supposed_ to wait for Sam.’

Dean wants to laugh but Castiel looks too serious. ‘Look...Cas, if you’re in trouble... I’m not waitin’.’

‘Dean--’

‘No.’ Dean slides his hands free and braces himself on the bed. He can’t feel silk anywhere on his body, so he tucks a knee under Castiel’s hip and, without any serious resistance from Cas, flips them over. 

Castiel looks as if he’s barely noticed the change in position. His eyes are dark and he’s scowling slightly, biting the corner of his lower lip. Dean props himself on one hand and reaches down, tracing his thumb over Castiel’s lip. The angel starts and looks up at him.

‘Sam was too far out to get there in time. That place was a freakin’ maze; you’re lucky _I_ got there as quick as I did. And...I could hear you, Cas, okay? I could...’ Dean shakes his head firmly, trying to dispell the memory, and tries to make a joke out of it. ‘I know what it takes to get you to make noise --’ 

As a joke, it falls flat. Even though it’s not there any more, he can see the cut on Castiel’s throat, the streaks of half-dried blood down his shoulder. He traces a finger over the place where the wound had been, reassuring himself that it is healed. ‘And ‘m not waitin’. Not if...’ He can taste something bitter in the back of his throat, something that comes from the memory of Castiel’s voice in his head and the sounds that filtered through a thick door. ‘Not if I can hear that.’

‘Dean, had you waited two minutes--’

Dean shakes his head firmly. ‘Not two minutes -- not two _seconds._ So you’re just gonna have to cope with that.’

Castiel looks up at him for a long minute, then reaches up and slides his fingers between Dean’s, lacing their hands together. ‘I do not want you to be hurt for me.’

Dean shrugs. ‘Same here. So...either we’ve got a problem...’ He raises Castiel’s hand and kisses the abraded skin on the angel’s knuckles, slight wounds he hadn’t bothered to heal after the fight. ‘...or you just let me kiss it better.’ 

Castiel snorts. ‘If she had killed you--’

‘She didn’t, Cas, Jesus. Look on the bright side, will you!’ Dean fumbles at the side of the bed and finds one of the lengths of red silk. He flourishes it in front of Castiel’s eyes and the angel groans.

‘Dean--’

‘No, no, c’mon...Cas -- hey...’ Dean drops the silk to pool in the middle of Castiel’s breastbone and presses his hand flat over Castiel’s heart. ‘I’m here. I’m fine. You’re here. You’re fine. Do you want to worry about what’s gonna happen next time or...’ He sits back on his heels and pulls the length of silk through his fingers and grins at Castiel. ‘...do you want me to show you a trick an old girlfriend taught me?’

Castiel eyes him dubiously for a moment and Dean can see the deep line between his eyebrows. This conversation isn’t over, he knows Castiel too well to think that. But maybe -- maybe they can postpone it. It’s not like there won’t be another hunt next month, next week, hell, _tomorrow_ \-- some other chance for one of them to get in trouble, locked up, cut up, shot up, tied up. Right now, they’ve got the whole night, a huge bed, and a private shower.

‘An old girlfriend? Should I be jealous?’ Castiel offers up a faint smile and Dean takes it for what it is: unwilling agreement. 

He knows that what would make Cas happy is if Dean agreed to hunt only with Sam glued to his shoulder for the rest of his life -- or with Cas standing right in front of him -- or maybe with full body armor. But that’s not gonna happen and Cas isn’t gonna stop looking like a tasty treat to all kinds of freaks so they’re both just gonna have to live with it.

Dean leans forward and brushes his lips over Castiel’s. ‘I’m here, right? You don’t look much like her.’ He slips a hand down between their bodies, sliding his knuckles along the sparse trail of hair that leads from Castiel’s navel to the base of his cock. Cas has gone soft, but Dean’s confident he can change that. The angel shivers and pushes up against his hand. ‘Y’don’t feel like her either.’

‘Dean...I...’ Castiel stops, licks his lips, moves to speak again, then stops.

‘I know.’ Dean takes Castiel’s hand with his free one, dropping down to rest on his elbow and tangling their fingers together. ‘S’okay, Cas... I know.’

Castiel meets his eyes for a minute, then smiles again, small, but real this time. ‘Then show me your trick.’

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Your Arms Feel Like Home," 3 Doors Down, _3 Doors Down._
> 
> This fic may have been inspired by the dream Dean is having in _[this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/336266)_ fic. Or, on the other hand, it may not. I don't know, really -- I wrote the first half-page six months ago and since then it just sat and sat and _sat_ until I finished it under the influence of a head cold, insomnia, and extreme boredom. You're welcome.


End file.
